Poison Potter
by juggernaut715
Summary: Harry delves into a magic that isn't magic while still at the Dursley's; poison. By chance he happens upon his heritage as 'The Great Weed,' a reincarnation of a poison master centuries old. This crosses with a picture book called 'The Poison Diaries,' but it's not required reading. Expect character death. A lot of it. Pre-Hogwarts.
1. Belladonna

**_This is a Harry Potter fanfiction thoroughly crossed with a book called "The Poison Diaries." That said, it does not require you have read that particular book before reading this. I would recommend reading it eventually though; quite the interesting picture book. Seriously. It's a friggin' picture book. _**

**_Called "The Poison Diaries." By Colin Stimpson._**

**_Anyways, I made a connection between the main character of that book (a boy named Weed) and Harry; green eyes and black, messy hair. Both are forced to tend to a garden, and neither of them like who they live with. _**

**_Harry is at the Dursley's, nine years old. He learns the ways of poison. He does...things. And eventually, he might go to Hogwarts._**

**_Or he might not go there at all._**

**_This is a totally open story with a lot of room to work with, just read the first chapter and tell me what you think. Could go east, could go west, could fly right over a cuckoos nest for all I know._**

**_If you are curious as to what exactly Belladonna looks like, look at the cover photo. _**

* * *

Harry did all the chores. Cooked meals, cleaned the house, and worked the garden.

The garden was where he found magic that wasn't quite magic.

Poison.

(^_^)

_Ouch._ Harry inwardly grumbled, shaking his hand side to side. The little thorns on the roses pricked his fingers every once in awhile, and his Aunt Petunia never gave him any gloves to prevent it. Sucking his thumb, he glanced around the garden. It was not a large garden, by any stretch. It spanned the back left corner of the yard, perhaps three square yards in total, and contained a bit of everything. A treasure trove of tulips grew to his left, and several patches of pansies pocked the earth to his right. Further back, where he currently sat, was the rose trellis.

The roses were of all colors; clearly they'd been thoroughly bred for diversity, as it was like looking at a rainbow every time he tended them. Every once in awhile he'd find a dark crimson, so dark it was nearly black, and he'd snip it off. He collected those in his cupboard, under his bed. One could say he rested on a 'bed of roses,' as it were. He also collected the green ones. Some acrid, some lime, all similar to the colors in his eyes. They didn't shimmer or sparkle like his eyes did, however, and he put them behind the noir in rank of importance.

"_Boy!"_ Petunia screeched from thirty feet away, leaning out of the back door. Harry restrained himself from covering his ears; even from this distance his eardrums still hurt. _"You've got ten minutes to finish up, then you're making dinner! Understand?"_

"Yes, Aunt Petunia." he murmured, just loud enough that it would carry across the yard. The door slammed shut, and he was alone once more. He shoved his hands into the dirt, clenching them and unclenching them in an attempt to soothe his nerves. Anger was an emotion he felt quite a lot but could never act upon. Petunia would break his eardrums, Vernon would break his back, and Dudley would sit on him; no ventilation system for his frustrations other than the dirt he punched like a piston everyday. He accidentally swung too far to the left and clipped the roses once more. "Bloody nugget!"

"My, what foul language you have." Mid sucking of a new wound on his pinkie, he let his finger slip out of his mouth and looked around for where the voice came from. It was soft, feminine. Seductive, and sinister. He saw no woman in the near vicinity who could satisfy such a voice with their appearance, why, he saw no woman at all.

"Down, boy, look to the ground. I hide beneath the trellis." Harry shook his head, thinking himself loony.

"I must have a fever..." He mumbled, pressing a dirty palm to his forehead to feel just above his scar. To his surprise, he felt rather cold. It was the middle of summer, but his body was frigid.

"Haw, haw, he thinks himself feverish!" A different voice, this one callous and rude. It came from somewhere out of sight, though he swirled in his seat to stare at...nothing.

"_Cuhurrg_-'ez not caught onto uz-_cough, cough_." This time it sounded like a sickly old black woman with bad vocal chords. Perhaps, from smoking. But there was no one there at all.

"Down here, down here." The first voice called again. "Under the trellis, you will find me." Shaking his head once more, he lowered himself to the dirt, peering underneath the wooden trellis. The trellis was in one of the darker areas of the garden, a large Dogwood looming over it provided much shade; it was not the best conditions for the roses to bloom, but they blossomed anyways. In the darkness beneath the trellis, up against the fence barring their yard from the neighbors, Harry spotted a decidedly womanly curve. Leaves were bent in such a way that it look as though a hand rested akimbo on a hip in a saucy manner, the other 'arm' hanging freely. The stem formed a lithe torso up to the flower, dark violet petals fluttering at him almost as though they were eyelashes.

"Sit with me for a time, Weed." The boy stared wide eyed, not sure what to make of this development. Nonetheless he found himself enticed. He sized himself up, and the hole between him and the flower. With a grunting and groaning, he squeezed through and rose to a sitting position, looming over the flower as it switched which leaf rested on which haughty 'hip.' It was as though he was within a whole other world. All around him was darkness, but there was a brightness that he himself seemed to create. He could see every detail of the..._beauty_ before him.

"Welcome, Weed." She held out a leaf and Harry found himself gently placing a kiss upon it before realizing what he'd done.

"Weed?" He repeated, releasing the leaf and wiping his lips. Some manner of consciousness told him he didn't want to ingest a single bit of this plant.

"Indeed, Weed." She said. "You may think your name to be Harry James Potter, but it is actually The Great Weed." There was a curious accent to her voice which he could not place.

"The Great Weed." He repeated, dumbly this time, as though a broken record. He started shuffling back, back towards the outside. "I don't really know what's going on, so-"

"Do not fear what you do not know, Weed. We have been calling you for a long, long time; we wish to set you free from the wicked man and his family." He paused his attempt to escape, and she continued. "You may think you are mad, but you are not. Blessed with friends such as myself all around the world, is what you are." The stem leaned forward and she spoke in a conspiratorial whisper. "We will tell you our secrets and make you..._powerful."_

Powerful. The word was of foreign meaning to Harry. All his life he'd been nothing but a slave to the Dursleys, and here he was, behind a rose trellis, being offered a bit of power by a plant.

"Who-what-"

"I am Belladonna." She 'curtsied,' leaves splaying out for a moment before returning to the almost cocktail dress form they held before. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Weed." Everything up to this point began to sink in, and Harry slumped forward, peering more closely at this mysterious flower-woman. She tossed her flower around as though whipping her hair, and his heart fluttered. If he were a fellow plant, he would swear she the love of his life. But he was not.

"What do you mean, power?" Harry found his hair entangling with a few of her extended leaves as she caressed his face and head. If petals could smirk, she was doing it now-but it was a pleased, satisfied smirk. Not one of malice, like Dudley always had when he and his gang beat him up.

"We, meaning myself and the other _poisons_, will make you a master of Life and Death." He pulled back, and her stems curled back against her. Memories of pain and torment from Vernon flashed through his mind. Dudley and his gang. Petunia yelling at him. He wrinkled his nose, conflicted.

"As bad as they are, they are still family."

"You are lying to yourself, and you know it." He gulped, knowing she was right.

"Still-"

"There have been others like you." She interrupted. "They all said the same thing at first; life isn't so bad, they aren't that bad, I don't want to kill anyone...but consider precisely how that family treats you. How your aunt does nothing to stop your uncle from whipping you with his belt, hard enough to leave scars on your back. What of your 'Cousin?' He's not much of a cousin, chasing you down and using you as a punching bag." A single leaf reached up and lifted Harry's chin, which had floated downwards in reticence. "We have seen how they make you suffer. For laying their hands on you, they must _die._ All of us, even the pompous Lords and Ladies and the sickly Nicotiana, are agreed." That satisfied smirk of petals came back. "Once we have finished with them, we will obliterate whoever you please."

"_NO!" _Harry shouted, far too loud. It echoed within the tiny alcove, ringing in his ears. He was _terrified_ at the thought of killing someone.

"I see, you need time to think it over." She sighed, leaves drooping slightly. "Come, tonight. I will wait for you, and I will tell you a story. My story. Hurry now, the witch waits for you." The reminder was all Harry needed to scuttle back out from under the trellis and sit up in the garden bed just the moment Petunia stuck her head out the window.

"_Boy! If you aren't in here before I count to three, you'll have none of what you cook for yourself!" _With haste, he rushed to the door and dove inside, sprinting the ten feet to the kitchen. He reached for the soap to wash his hands when he heard a shriek. Petunia was behind him, almost as purple faced as Uncle Vernon got when he was really, really angry. _"Look at what you've done! Tracked dirt all over the house! Vernon!" _

_Oh, shit._ Harry cursed, mentally. He followed her gaze down to the footprints he'd left on the floor, and the other clumps of random dirt that'd fallen off of his upper body and legs. The fat man was there only a moment later, surprising Harry that a man so large could move so fast from the living room couch. It took him only a moment to assess the situation and start undoing his belt. Pre-emptively, Harry curled into the fetal position with his hands over his head to protect against any head or face injury. It was just in time, too.

"Stupid freak! You'll be cleaning the entire house, for that! Move!" Vernon shouted. "Move!" Herded like a sheep, Harry was slapped with the whip towards the hallway and then back from whence he came, back outside. The whipping did not stop, for Vernon had no fear of any neighbor seeing what he was doing; the hedges were untrimmed and loomed high enough that people would only ponder what the slapping sound was. Harry knew better than to scream for help; Vernon would only hit harder. With a rough kick to the back of his knee he was on the ground, and moments later very wet and thoroughly chilled.

Vernon was using the hose on him.

The beating did not stop, even as his writhed on the ground, a sobbing mess of both his own tears, mud, and more water than would have filled the bathtub. A final kick to his ribs and the hose was dropped on him, still pouring out water.

"Turn the hose off once you've cleaned up. Then, you'll get inside, dry off, and make dinner. After that, you'll clean up the mess." Vernon walked off, still purple faced.

It was at that moment Harry decided a unmoving and lifeless Vernon wouldn't be half bad.

Out of spite, Harry shoved the hose into the ground, still running, behind a bush. It wouldn't be noticed; he was the only one who did the gardening, and they barely came outside. Their water bill would be sky high in half a day. He was drenched, soaked, and very cold. Britain was not known for its warm, temperate climate. The boy trudged back into the house and into the cupboard, where his wet clothes made a sopping pile in the back corner. They'd probably be moldy by morning if he didn't do the laundry. He dried himself with his own blanket and then put on another set of clothes from a younger Dudley which were still several sizes too large for him.

Dinner was made swiftly and without a word. Petunia had gone upstairs to knit. Vernon had gone back into the living room where Dudley sat staring at the telly like a hypnotized pig.

He hadn't even heard the commotion, so enticed he was, and would probably box Harry around after seeing the hallway when called for dinner.

Sure enough, a hard slug came to the side of Harry's head as he placed the last plate, for Dudley, on the table. The plate was thrown off said table when Harry's arm was shoved against it, and it broke apart on the floor, food splattering everywhere.

"Why's the hallway all dirty, freak?" Harry murmured in response, and upon hearing the reason Dudley smacked his head again. "Idiot. Stupid, idiot." Then his eyes fell on the plate that'd cracked on the floor, and where it'd come from. "Oi! That's my food you spilled!"

"You shoved me into-"

Another smack, this time right on Harry's ear. The pain was deafening. In fact, a loud, _loud_ pop was the last thing he heard in that ear, aside from a weird high pitched buzz.

"Well, you can eat it now!" The pig walked over to the counter and took the last serving, which would have been Harry's, and sat down at the table with it. Not even waiting for his parents to walk in, he chowed down, not even looking at Harry.

This was the point in time Dudley tinted red, and seemed to be better off dead to Harry.

Barely containing the urge to deal back the same blows Dudley had dealt him, and then some, Harry forced himself to walk out of the kitchen and grab the vacuum cleaner.

_Concentrate on work. If you hit him, it'll only be worse in the long run._ He forced himself to start cleaning, even as Vernon and Petunia walked past him, one bumbling like a hippo and one simpering like a snake.

"Better be cleaned up before we're finished with dinner, freak." Petunia sniffed. _Freak. _They either called him a freak, or 'boy.' Typically Petunia stuck to 'boy.' The way she leered over him as he toiled in a mess that could have been avoided if she hadn't rushed him. It was _her fault._ It wasn't like he wanted to track dirt in the house-_she'd rushed him._

And yet, she still looked down on him like he was the cause of every problem. Harry could recall three times in the past week where he'd done something she'd commanded him to do only to get scolded by her later for doing it. That, or he'd get yelled at by Vernon or Dudley for 'messing with their things' and she wouldn't say a single thing about telling him to do what he'd done.

Around this time Harry decided that he wouldn't care if Petunia were alive or dead, for without the other two germs in the house she would probably lose her edge, and subsequently level out. A bit.

Nay, he'd prefer her dead anyways.

_But do I have the balls to kill them,_ his final thought as he shoveled the last bit of dirt out the door. He went back down the hall, wiping the floor to get rid of any stains. When he was finished he threw the rag in the laundry basket and peeked into the kitchen. He'd moved fast; they were still eating dinner. After some quick thinking, he decided he ought to get in the cupboard and out of sight. They'd be less likely to claim he'd 'missed' a spot if he wasn't there to remind them.

It was rare he actually went into the cupboard willingly. Tonight, he did. He shut the door and huddled himself on his bed. He'd forgotten to take his clothes to the laundry, but had no choice in the matter now; he could hear chairs moving and conversation in the hallway.

_Please let them forget, please let them forget-_a loud banging on the door told Harry it was not to be.

"Oi, brat!" Another one of nicknames for him, 'brat.' "You missed a spot in the corner!"

_Drat._

With great lethargy Harry slid off the bed and out the door of the cupboard, which Vernon had yanked open as soon as his feet touched the ground. It seemed the banging warning his uncle gave was the only courtesy he could manage. Sure enough, out in the hall in the corner up against the wall was a tiny pile of dirt he'd happened to miss.

_Couldn't just deal with it themselves, huh?_

Silently, with dustpan in hand, he walked over to it and swept it up, poured it outside, returned the dustpan to the kitchen, and re-entered his cupboard. Not, however, before Vernon whacked him upside the head, Dudley boxed his ear, and Petunia turned her nose up at him. As of the moment he entered his cupboard, he was trapped. They locked it every night. With a click, his designation in the household was secured, and he had no way out. For some reason, this disappointed Harry more than it usually did.

_...Belladonna,_ he thought. She had been...nice to him. Unlike these self-indulged prats. And she said...something about a story? Tonight-_Tonight! _He had to escape! Belladonna was waiting for him the very moment the sky darkened, which had happened a half hour ago. He spun to face the door, frowning at the way the knob wouldn't budge.

_Come on!_ He rattled it, then rattled it harder and harder. _Stupid Dursley dumpheads, locking me in here-_with a grunt it suddenly gave way, and the door cracked open a good foot before he pulled it back shut. _Bloody hell-did that just work?_

Little did Harry know he'd used a bit of accidental magic to his advantage.

Caution his middle name, Harry peeked out the slimmest of cracks he could form opening the door. Thankfully it pointed towards the living room. No one was there. The telly was off. Opening the door a bit wider he made out the throaty snores of Vernon dozing. High pitched sniffles accompanied them; Petunia. No sounds from Dudley. He could still be awake... but it was worth the risk. With a swift opening and closing, he was out. As quietly as he could manage, the only sounds the tipping of his toes, he manuvered down the hallway to the back door. He knew it creaked upon opening, so he went back to the kitchen and got some vegetable oil to grease the hinges.

Not long at all before he was out in the garden, approaching that trellis. There were hundreds of voices, now. All of them had gone unheard earlier, but somehow _now_ all audible. Curious, unexplainable, but Harry did not question.

"The Great Weed," most of them shouted. He got on all fours and crawled through the space, coming face to face with the lady herself.

"I knew you'd return, Weed." She said, pride evident in her voice.

"I came for the story." He said, simply. Harry tried not to give away he'd already made a decision. The Dursley pig reign would end, by his hand. He knew it. But he desired Belladonna to 'convince' him first, to seem morally good until a breaking point (which he'd already smashed to bits) was broken.

"Ah, the story." She repeated. The plant reached into her flower and pulled out a small black and shiny berry. In a deft motion she squished it, and flicked a drop of the juices into each of Harry's eyes.

Everything shifted as Belladonna began to speak. Hallucinations ran rampant in Harry's mind, visualizing everything she spoke with great clarity and exaggeration. He did not perceive what lay in front of his eyes, but what Belladonna wished him to witness.

"I once grew in the forgotten corner of a large garden in a country far to the south of here. It was called, "Italia." Oftentimes I would see a girl laughing in the center of the garden among the stupid common flowers."

"I believe they were roses. I loathe roses. They are nothing but chatterboxes of the worst kind, and I thoroughly enjoyed watching them get their heads snipped off to die in a vase. Those out on this trellis are just the same-pardon, I've shifted from my tale."

"Though the girl did not come near I could tell she had bright green eyes and black hair like you, but twisty and unkempt." Even while he witnessed something else in his mind, Harry reached up and curled a finger in his hair. "At night I would call out to her, unfortunately there were no other voices to accompany me, and she did not hear. But I waited. I knew she'd come near eventually, when the time was right."

"I was correct. On a night like this one, when she was but a few years older than yourself, she crawled between some bushes with her gown torn and splotched with dirt and her face wet with tears. Infuriated, I offered to help her take vengeance on whoever had upset her so."

"Witnessing who had spoken she ran away. She thought love had made her mad. It did not take long for her senses to return, however, and she reappeared a few nights later. With wet eyes she told me the man she loved was to marry her _cousin._"

"Foolish Erbaccia-that was her name-refused to listen to reason. I offered to put her cousin in the ground, but she would not consent. So, instead, I taught her to make herself more beautiful. By letting a drop of my venom fall into her eyes they became as lovely as stars, so lovely a man could lose himself in them."

Harry frowned at this, watching Erbaccia drip poison into her pupil.

"I don't want to be _beautiful."_

A simpering laugh came from the plant.

"I do not doubt. Nay, Weed, you are one of _us._ Our properties will not affect you the same as they do other people-but do not take that lightly. Consume us without proper preparation in any way, shape, or form, and you will die."

The boy nodded, and Belladonna continued. Never once did he question how she showed him such visions.

"Unfortunately, this beautification did not earn his love. I reasoned that he must be blind not to see her beauty...but to tell the truth, she had a face that looked as if it had been stung by a swarm of wasps-not to mention her cousin was almost an angel in human form. We bikered and bickered, but before long time ran out and the day before the wedding Erbaccia made the decision. Her cousin would be come, how should I say...dead."

"The lass was already practised in making an essence of my poison, so it was just a case of getting her cousin to drink it. One private celebratory glass of wine later, and the marriage had begun. It ended before it'd even begun; the bride staggered down the aisle twitching all over and stuttering about visions of hellfire in her head. She shed her skin like a snake, and died, there on the carpet."

While Belladonna spoke Harry witnessed this particular event with great lucidity, something he'd prefer never having done. It was almost traumatizing-but an inkling within him wondered how Vernon's face would look underneath that purple skin. Would the bones be purple, too? What of Dudley? Would he stagger into the television he so loved and fall _just_ so his neck snapped?

"I am deadly, my sweet boy, after all." Belladonna said, a swell of pride in her voice once more.

"But-but what happened to Erbaccia?" Harry blurted. "Did she, you know...get away with it?"

Belladonna put both leaves on her hips, and leaned forward with what could be called 'frowning' petals.

"Oh yes. Do not doubt my discretion; I am subtle, and not very sweet. When someone drinks my poison their throat swells and the voice is taken away; it is unlikely they would speak a name, much less speak at _all._No one found out Erbaccia had poisoned her cousin, that night."

"Did she get married?"

"No." The flower looked away, clearly displeased. "Unfortunately, he was betrothed once again soon after." Discontent stormed in Harry's heart. He wanted a _good_ ending, though apparently it was not to be.

"What happened to her?"

"She killed his betrothed, of course. And the next, and the following, and the subsequent. People started pointing fingers eventually. Her only choice to escape was to drink my poison herself. Her last moments were skipping off the palace roof in naught but her brassiere. I guess she thought she could fly; many do."

A different kind of discontent swelled within Harry; uncertainty.

"If Erbaccia was so unlucky, why should I kill anyone-even the Dursleys, God knows how much they deserve to die."

"Simple, Weed; you are not in love. Erbaccia was lost to love, and doomed from the start. Besides; Erbaccia only had me. Here, you have others. You haven't spotted them yet, but you will; more friends to take care of you." A few cries of agreement came from outside of the trellis, and Harry found himself smiling. His vision had returned and he gently kissed Belladonna's extended hand-leaf.

"You need not worry for my poison. Take a few berries for safekeeping, and come back tomorrow."

"I will." Harry said, snatching a few from the flower and shuffling back out from under the trellis. He clutched the berries in hand, passed the bush where the hose still pumped water into the ground, and entered the house. Mere moments passed until he was back in the cupboard, relatively safe. He guessed it was nearing midnight. Sighing, he laid the berries to rest on his poor substitute of a desk, and then hopped into bed, ignoring the fact he was covered in dirt. He'd clean up in the morning; he always woke up before everyone else no matter how he tried to sleep in.

Within minutes he was parachuting through a dream, plotting perish by poison.

(^_^)

_**So, what'd you think? Please review.**_


	2. Castor

**_Responses to reviews and more information will be at the end of each chapter. _**

* * *

It was only in the midst of getting dressed that Harry realized it was a school day. The beautiful black berries on his desk would have to wait until after school to be used, otherwise he'd have to deal with a truancy officer coming by and finding him the only one home not suffering from a bad case of rigor mortis. Languid with sleep and lack of motivation, he trudged out of his room to the kitchen, where he made a simple breakfast and ate his share without waiting for the rest of his 'family.'

The rest came down a few minutes later and devoured everything left.

_Pigs._

Twenty minutes passed and he was in the backseat of the car, on the way to Saint Grogory's Primary School. It was a terrible place. Vernon was 'in' with the principal, and that meant Dudley could do whatever he wanted. That included leading a gang, beating up everyone he wanted, and dumping his lunch on top of Harry's head. The lattermost he blamed on the 'freak,' and then took Harry's lunch for himself.

Every moment spent in those white tiled hallways was another moment Harry wished he'd ended Dudley's life earlier that day.

_Forget morals, _he thought, as Dudley kicked him in the lower back in one of the toilet stalls. _Belladonna says I can kill them-what's to stop me? _

The answer came after school, on the car ride home.

"Look at that." Vernon murmured, mostly to himself. Harry followed his gaze out the window. A man was stumbling this way and that on the street, a paperbag with a bottleneck sticking out in his hand. "Can't get much worse than a drunk on the street, in the middle of the day."

_Worse._

There was the reason.

Belladonna wasn't terrible enough. The Dursleys deserved _worse._

It was five o'clock by the time he'd finished all chores sans the gardening.

"Aunt Petunia, I'm going to tend the garden." If she was surprised by his willingness, she did not show it. She sniffed, turning her chin up, as though balancing something very precarious on the tip of her nose.

"I'm going to do my hair. You'll clip some roses and put them in a vase in the front of the living room, you hear?" 'Doing her hair' would take hours; Harry wouldn't be bothered while he was outside. Perfect.

"Yes, Aunt Petunia." Rarely did Harry experience elation, much less when he went to toil in the garden. Only the berries in his cupboard were proof of his sanity, that something had actually happened on the soil last night. Was he insane? It was either that or he was fluent in plant-speak; as he approached he heard voices cheering and welcoming him. He nearly spun round and asked his Uncle to put him in a mental ward, but he continued forward until he reached the trellis. Swiftly, he was under and through it, face to petals with Belladonna.

"Oh, Good evening, Weed. I am so very glad to see you return." She said, almost sounding motherly. Harry frowned, poking his left ear. It would appear its hearing had still not returned from last night. He could hear only half of Belladonna's enchanting voice, and that only infuriated him further.

"Belladonna, I've decided. I want to kill them."

"Good." She said, petals nodding in approval. Harry bit his lip.

"But I want it to be terrible."

"Oh?" The woman sounded amused.

"While your poison sounds most..._excrutiating..._"

"You want them to suffer as _worse_ as possible." She'd taken the words right out of Harry's mouth. Dumbly, he nodded. A fluttering hum floated on the breeze.

"You ought to go and speak to your other friends. I have told you my secrets; they will tell you theirs. These secrets are key to your greatness, and the key to causing more _misery_ with your pick of poison. I suggest you speak to Castor, first; he is mixed in with the bushes in the back of the garden. Be very careful; he is the most deadly of your friends." Harry nodded, sliding back out from under the trellis and then focusing on the bushes to his right. One of them stood out from the rest, with purplish stems and large leaves; like hands with seven fingers. Little spiny pods dotted it all over, and as he approached he heard a voice call to him.

"Hello, _Veed._" Like Belladonna, there was an untraceable accent to his voice. He manifested under one of the leaves with a head not unlike that of a demon, spiky horns sticking out the back of his head, the leaves shrouding his stem like a cloak. his face was red as blood, and two slender stems stuck out in the form of arms, little spikes up and down their sides. Unlike Belladonna, who inspired a sense of comfort and safety, he was intimidating, and rather scary.

"H-Hello." The little poisonous plant stared at him, clearly expecting him to continue. Harry cleared his throat. "I heard that you are the most lethal of my..._friends._" The word was foreign, and it was the first time Harry had ever used it. Sure, Belladonna used it all the time...but it felt bitter coming out of Harry's own mouth. The demonic flower snorted, crossing its stems.

"Dead is _dead._ How big or small zee dose does not matter in light of zee beauty of zee demise; zee loveliness of the body in its final breath, zee enchanting beauty of thrashing limbs trying to cling to zee last few moments of life, zee oh zo _amusing_ gasps as zey fight for breath that vill not come-" He started to shake wildly, stems twitching this way and that. "Zee-zee-convulsions of the-ahhh-spasm! Ah ha ha ha, Hah HAHAHA!"

As Castor went stiff and thrashed about, Harry pondered whether the plant was sane or not.

Probably not.

"Zorry about that. I become excited, you see." Harry nodded. "Indeed, yes, only a vee _speck_ of zee poison zat my little babies carry-just a spec-zat is enough to take any life."

"Your...babies?" For the life of him, Harry could not imagine Castor being motherly. Nor could anyone else, if they'd met the plant.

"Ya," Castor said. The poison gestured to the spiky pods covering his stems. As Harry leaned in to get a closer look one of them _popped and_ a tiny seed flew out and hit him in the forehead. Castor giggled, a sound Harry would rather never hear again. "Zo zorry, but zee little ones must haff zeir fun, no?" The plant cradeled the seed between its stems, muttering "my precious" under its breath.

"How are they used?" Harry finally asked. "Do you just fed them to people you want to die?" Castor shrugged, leaves shifting.

"Ya, you could. But zere is a better vay. Vould you like me to tell you?" Knowing 'better' probably meant gruesome, Harry nodded anyways. Nine years of slavery would end, painfully, if he had any say in it. A pair of Castor's stems reached out and pried Harry's mouth open, and a third threw one of the seeds into his mouth. They held his jaw shut tight until he swallowed, and there was silence for all of three seconds. Retching soon ensued, and a puddle of vomit appeared on the soil once Harry had emptied his stomach. The seed lay in the middle of the puddle, a single black spot-but that black spot tainted the rest of it. This taint covered the entire puddle, which was perhaps as big as Vernon's belly. The black fizzled for a moment, becoming like the snow on a television screen, and then pictures began to display everything Castor spoke. Harry' quickly forgot how the puddle had been formed, entranced by Castor's story.

"Not zo long ago I vas discovered by a young man who learned how to make me into a poison, so _vunderfully._ He vas a student of science and very clever-but he vas poor, and could not hope to pay for his studies. His name vas Von Rickstein and his parents were dead, as yours' are, but his aunt was rich, as your's isn't. If she vere removed..."

"Then all the money would be his-inherited." Harry finished, poking an image of a money bag in the far left corner of the puddle.

"Exactly. If zee aunt vas removed, all zee money would be his, and he could devote his life to his passion; science. Von Rickstein had heard of my babies, how zey killed with only a dot of poison. He vorked all night and day in his tiny dark laboratory to discover zee secret of zeir poison, until he had produced a powder vich could kill in zuch tiny amounts zat no one would ever zee it."

In the puddle a man toiled over bubbling cauldrons, some of which blew up in his face, others which spilled over and burned into the floorboards. With a bright flash of light he was holding a small tin, which when opened revealed a red powder with little skulls of death and doom steaming off of it.

"He named it _Ricin. _Vunce it vas finished he had to find a vay of administering zee poison to his aunt-but of course, for a man of his brilliance zis vas eezy. He'd read of people making special rings from years ago, pretty rings with not-so-pretty secrets, ya? Von Rickstein took all of his remaining gold and made vun just the same."

"On zee top vas a beautiful lion, with a wild mane and savage teeth. But along zee side of zee ring were zee paws; paws with a single claw a vee bit too long, so zat ven his aunt, who adored zee little trinkets and little jewels put it on, _it pricked her finger."_

"Unbeknownst to his aunt, zee claw vas hollow and contained a few grains of Von Rickstein's new powder. One prick, and zey dropped into zee tiny scratch and...ahh ha ha HAHAHA-spasm, sorry."

Harry nodded in acknowledgement, but he was far too charmed with the images in the puddle to truly pay attention to Castor's 'spasm.' The woman, Von Rickstein's aunt, put the ring on. A trail of blood followed it, and it skipped a few hours to where she was having trouble breathing, skin turned a pale blue.

"Zoon," Castor continued, "zee ricin was obliterating all zee important things inside her body, like zee kidneys and zee stomach and zee _everything._ It all turned to mush and she died in thrashing agony. Oh, it vas _magnificent."_

"Vot-I mean-What happened to him?" Harry wiped his tongue with his sleeve. Perhaps a bit of the poison was starting to effect him. Belladonna _had_ said Castor was the most lethal of the crop; perhaps even his hinted immunity would not be enough to ward off the same fate of Von Rickstein's aunt.

Castor, though marginally psychopathic, noticed the motion.

"Do not worry, Veed; my poison vill not harm you. Perhaps your tongue vill sting-but zat is of little concern." Harry nodded, wiping his tongue with his sleeve once more to try and get rid of the taste. No avail, unfortunately. "As for Von Rickstein, he became a great scientist with all zee money from his aunt. A Great Veed like you could do zis, and zo much more. Surely, you vish to end your tormentors? Zat is vhy you come to see Castor, correct?"

The boy nodded once more.

Castor's cackles echoed around the yard for ten seconds before he calmed enough to speak once more.

"Very well. Come, harvest zome of my babies; zey will help you vith your task." As Harry reached for some of the spiky pods a stem held his wrist in place, and he leveled 'eyes' with Castor. "Of course, Veed, if you _truly_ wish to make zee pigs suffer, you vill make a _concoction_ of your new friends-myself included, of course." The little demon head frowned, then smirked. "I zay, speak vith zee Lords and Ladies tomorrow. Zey will make things far more entertaining." Nodding once again in confirmation, Harry gathered over twenty of the little castor beans, then went back into the house.

He put them next to the Belladonna berries. Frowning, he reached down and opened one of the desk's tiny drawers. It wouldn't do well to leave his poisons out in the open to be seen. He dropped the berries and babies into the drawer and closed it tight, smiling in satisfaction. It was nearing seven o'clock; he'd talked with Castor for longer than he thought. A banging on the cupboard door called his attention and it was opened by Vernon a moment later.

"Boy! Dudley's spilled his cake in the living room-clean it up."

With a sigh, Harry went to work for his pigs.

Out in the garden, however, Belladonna smiled.

"Oh, little Weed. How he grows every minute; so innocent he seems, yet cruel underneath. His intentions are justified, but evil nonetheless. The childish mind in his head is beginning to twist like the roots of a Mangrove, forming into something sinister. Pursuing a torturous death for his own family; a true Weed, through and through."

"The Great Weed, indeed."

* * *

_**Whoa. Didn't expect so much support so fast. **_

_**Ceti H. Black: Thanks! I don't think there's any other story about Harry becoming a poisonous practitioner so yeah, it's a first. **_

_**emarald777: Thanks!**_

_**Fez8745: I know. There are so many different spins I could put on it. I haven't figured out how it's going to come together, but I will.**_

_**Elfwyn: What is a 'Borgia?' The Borgia Family, from way back in time? And as to attending something before Hogwarts...no. It's not going to happen. **_

_**ultima-owner: They're fun, too. **_

_**This is a cross between Harry Potter and a picture book called 'The Poison Diaries.' That said, it is not required you have read The Poison Diaries for this to make any sense. I am loosely, **_**loosely****_ following the basic plot within that book for the time being, but the story will delve further into Harry Potter as time goes by. _**

**_Let me just say this now; not all of the things about each poison is totally accurate. _**

**_Hope you've enjoyed, and please review._**


	3. The First

**_Responses to reviews and other information can be found at the end of the chapter._**

* * *

School did not go well the following day.

"Take that, freak!" Piers shouted, kicking Harry's exposed stomach while the boy fruitlessly tried to protect his head from his cousin's onslaught. Dudley, while incredibly fat and sluggish, seemed to be able to pull energy out of nowhere when it came to beating him up. After five minutes they were done with him, and Harry stumbled out of the bathroom with a wicked gash on the side of his head from where Dudley's punches had knocked him into the hard metal knob above a urinal. The impact had torn skin. His insides felt like jelly. He knew from experience that if he lifted his shirt he'd see the bruises that were already forming.

Dudley had gotten off with a warning from the teacher, who stuttered and averted his eyes from the schoolboy. Vernon's relationship with the principal gave the boy clout, and it wasn't something the teacher was willing to go up against.

The nurse had given Harry a few band-aids, antibiotic ointment, and sent him on his way. Without a single word. The boy went back to class and sat down, anger storming like a typhoon up and down his spine. With his hands clenched under his desk in fists so tight his nails made his palms bleed, Harry made a decision.

It wasn't worth dealing with the boy's bullying long enough to create the great concoction Castor spoke of, no, he'd be dealt with swiftly and firstly. Dudley would die first, and he would die tonight. The conversation with the Lords and Ladies, as Castor had suggested, would have to wait. _Besides,_ Harry reasoned inwardly, _I don't know what the Lords and Ladies look like, anyways._ He chose to ask Belladonna what the characteristics of the noble plants were, instead of Castor, who had referred him. It was a verdict easily made; Belladonna was sweet and motherly, while Castor was a demonic psychopath.

After an arduous car ride 'home' while Dudley kicked his shins repeatedly, Harry hid himself within his cupboard. It hadn't really surprised him when the door locked the previous night. How in the world he'd unlocked it before was clearly a glitch in the laws of reality, and wasn't going to happen again. He opened the drawer in his desk and stared down at the berries from Belladonna and the 'babies' from Castor.

Decisions, decisions.

Why not just use both? The simplest option, and yet not one Harry wished to pursue; he was not stupid. Only an idiot would reveal all the cards in their hand at once. No, he'd use one and keep the other secret. Even if they didn't link the death to him, he'd have another handful of symptoms by using only one of the poisons.

With the dark, juicy berry he could give Dudley hallucinations, put him in a frenzy, and make him convulse on the floor. Not to mention the killer migraine that would rack his entire body even before the more serious symptoms occurred.

Castor's tiny beans would make Dudley puke and soil himself as though a firehose was spouting water inside of his body. His skin would turn blue-purple, and he'd crash to the floor, shaking violently. Not long after his innards would begin to disintegrate, and the end result would be similar to a bug caught in a spider's web; the insides would be nothing but juice.

Such possibilities.

Harry caught himself grinning like a madman, and quickly slapped his face free of the expression. Vengeance, though it was, it shouldn't be so enthralling. He could picture the same terrible things happening to himself and he shook his head, no, no one should ever wish those things upon another person. Unless they were the Dursley's, of course. The boy nodded to himself, arms crossed righteously over his scrawny chest. Once he'd killed his family and gotten taken in by a proper foster home, he'd never use these mysterious poisons again. Pledge made, he opened his eyes, and picked Dudley's poison.

"Take out the trash, freak." Vernon grumbled, pointing to the trash bin in the center of the kitchen. Harry could only restrain himself until Vernon looked away-then his mask broke and he grinned like the madman he was becoming.

_Oh, how naive, Vernon. Your son will be dead before the night is gone, and you worry about the trash? Well, considering Dudley is more or less garbage as well, I won't have disobeyed you. Cheers. _He patted his thigh, where his choice of catastrophe lay, inside a tiny mint box. Till dinner. That's how long Dudley had to live. Harry lugged the trash outside and threw it in the garbage can, feeling a curious sensation in his chest. It was ineffable; like a pressure right on his heartstrings, but also a sense of relief. Utterly contradicting and yet no other phrases could possibly describe the way he felt.

When he started to cook, he found the word he'd been looking for; excitement. Looking forward to watching Dudley writhe. It was pork chops and beans and gravy for dinner. Though he hated to admit it, Harry was an excellent cook, even if the only reason was because he was forced to do so. Pork chops were his specialty, but tonight, for one night only, they'd be _extra_ special.

Pan-seared, medium rare, with extra _death._

He peeked out of the kitchen towards the living room. Dudley sat in front of the television, transfixed. There was a glob of drool sliding down his chin. Vernon in there with him, reading the paper. Apparently brain-dead expressions ran in the family; like son, like father, Vernon was drooling with mouth open. Petunia was-

"Boy!" Startled, Harry jerked back and stared wide eyed up at his aunt.

"W-What?"

"You're finished with making dinner. Go clean up Dudley's room."

_Nononononononono-_

"I'm not finished." He managed, trying not to scream. "I'll put the food on the plates-I'll-I'll-" He grit his teeth. "I'll clean Dudley's room while you eat." It came out akin to a growl, but Petunia didn't notice. It'd be a stretch to ask to clean the pig's room after dinner-Petunia would outright refuse and he'd have no choice in the matter. So, he'd reach for what he could get.

"Fine. Hurry up, and come get us in the living room when you're finished." She was gone.

Harry had to move fast, lest the world conspire against him. He walked over to the stove top and began placing servings on individual dishes. He made sure one in particular was larger than the rest, with four pork chops instead of two, twice as many beans, and a whole lot of gravy.

The gravy was added after he'd sprinkled the finely ground powder onto the pork chops. It'd conceal the poison's obvious existence, for the powder was white and quite visible if not covered up. It was a crude attempt at making ricin. He'd crushed three beans together on top of his desk between two books, and the end result he'd transferred into the mint box for storage. According to Castor's erudite description, only a 'speck' was needed to kill someone.

If it wasn't already obvious, Harry was aiming for over-kill.

He nodded in satisfaction and then forced himself to look small, unhappy, like his usual self before he'd met Belladonna and entered the mystical world of poisons, before shuffling into the living room.

"Dinner's ready." He said, simply. Vernon's paper lowered and he sent a cursory glare Harry's way before harumph-ing and folding it. Petunia, who sat next to him, pointed upwards. Harry cursed under his breath-he'd already forgotten his compromise. It was the second to worst situation that could have happened, the worst being discovery of his plans. While he cleaned Dudley's room, Dudley would be dying. He'd miss his cousin's death.

For some inhuman reason, he was disappointed.

He wasn't disappointed because he'd be missing justice being served...but rather that he'd be missing a body writhe on the ground with puke and shit spewing out both ends in utter agony. The notion made him shiver, and he made himself walk out of the room and up to Dudley's without a peep.

There were toys all over the floor, clothes haphazardly tossed everywhere including the ceiling fan, and the bed was as unkempt as possible. He heard the clinking of silverware and conversation float up from downstairs as he made the bed. No doubt, Dudley was digging into the biggest portion like the pig he was. The very moment he finished the process of gathering dirty laundry, he heard a pained moan unmistakably from his particular cousin. It took every bit of willpower he had not to run down the stairs and watch.

By the time he'd finished putting the toys in relative order, he'd heard retching sounds. A swift stomping illustrated Dudley rushing to the bathroom, and the subsequent farting and splattering signified the attainment of the point of no return. No matter what treatment Dudley received now, he would die.

"Duddy-kins?" He heard Petunia ask in a worried voice as he walked down the stairs. "Are you alright? You looked a bit-well, _blue."_

"Growing boys can't help how fast they eat, that's all, nothing serious. " Vernon said in a gruff, placating voice. Harry almost laughed aloud at his uncle's misconception. If it were the rate of consumption which caused this bout of both puking and soiling then Dudley would experience this every time he ate. The young Weed touched down on ground level, watching them from a distance where they crowded against the door of the bathroom. More echoes of retching and diarrhea filled Harry's ears, and he felt that same sinister smirk trying to worm its way onto his face. He pushed it away, trying his best to appear innocent as he posed a question.

"Is-Is Dudley alright?" They both simultaneously spun on him. Vernon looked as though he'd shout something, but was preemptively cut off by an odd sort of _thump_ from inside the bathroom.

"Dudley?" Petunia tried, placing a hand on the doorknob and shaking it gently. A sound not so different from a flailing fish on a dock was made in response; Dudley had reached the convulsion stage. "Duddy-kins?" Petunia tried the door, harder this time, using both hands.

Suddenly it was deathly quiet. Harry, who had crept along the wall to get a closer vantage point, had to cover his mouth to cover his grin. In his mind there was an argument going on whether it was right to be jovial over his cousin's death. He _was_ family, even if he was a pig and a bully and a damn eyesore.

"Vernon, open the door." Petunia said, barely a whisper. She was pallid as a ghost. Vernon was not much better, the usual purple of his face totally absent. He stepped past Petunia and gripped the handle, shaking it at first gently, then so vigorous he nearly broke his wrist. He took wild steps back, like an unsteady elephant, and then charged forward like the hippo he was. The impressive bulk of a fatso like Harry's uncle was not to be trifled with; the lock broke and the door opened. A sick crack was heard, and Harry could not help but rush forward and stand beside Petunia to see what it was.

The door had swung open and smacked the side of Dudley's head, smashing it against the wall. From the angle his neck was currently bent, it was obvious what had just happened.

"Mother of..." Vernon muttered, taking shaky steps back.

Petunia simply screamed.

And screamed.

And screamed.

At the sight of his dead cousin Harry thought he might experience some form of revulsion, disgust, for it was a terrible sight to behold. There was shit everywhere, including Dudley's butt cheeks, which were raised high in the air. His arms were splayed out to his sides and his face looked the definition of horrified. There was a thin bloody stream leaking out of his nose and another from his mouth, which probably contained the first bits of his digested innards.

Instead, Harry felt elated. He felt like he was skipping on clouds, like all was right in the world. He felt damn near invincible, up until Vernon grabbed him by the shoulders and threw him to the wall.

"_I bet you did this, freak! Look what letting you stay in our home has brought! You ungrateful __**pig!"**_

It was the first and last time Harry ever saw Vernon cry.

All the boy could do was huddle himself together until Vernon's powerful fist stopped coming. For a few moments he'd feared for his life; a distraught Vernon was a particularly dangerous one. In fact, he couldn't imagine the man stopping for anything, much less for fear of killing him. But as Vernon pulled back it was revealed Petunia was holding his arm back, tears streaming down her face, ruining her makeup. Her screeches had been silent for a while.

It would appear that she'd seen enough death for one day. Later it would occur to Harry that she'd just about saved his life...but he wouldn't care. One good act, even if it meant he'd be alive, was not enough to redeem the atrocious way she'd commanded him all this time.

_Wait a second-did he just call me a _pig?

Harry glanced up at Vernon from his huddled position, jaw dropping at the sight of him shutting the bathroom door and walking away. Petunia went into the kitchen, sobbed briefly, and then dialed the proper authorities. The boy stood up in a phase of wonder, shuddering at what Vernon's pummeling had done to his sides and head. How were they taking this so easily? Their son had just died...you'd think they'd do the whole clutch-the-body-and-moan shtick.

Perhaps it was the condition of the body preventing them from doing so. Harry wanted to go to his cupboard and laugh his socks off, but a stubby, fat finger pointed right between his eyes. Vernon had come back. His eyes were red with both rage and grief, but he was no longer crying.

"Boy." It was when Vernon whispered that Harry was truly afraid. "I am going to ask you this once, and depending on your answer Petunia won't be able to stop me." Harry gave a slight nod. "Did you put anything in the food?"

Harry shook his head with great fervor. Vernon tugged him to his feet and yanked him towards the cupboard, throwing him in. The boy smashed into his desk, hitting the side of his head. Disoriented, he could only mumble in protest while he was gagged with dirty laundry and had his hands tied behind his back. He was thrown to the bed, and even without looking he knew Vernon was searching around the cupboard for whatever had killed Dudley.

An odd sort of scoffing sound came out of Harry's gag. It was the best laughter he could manage under the circumstances. He'd hidden all the beans and berries in the rat hole under and behind his bed. The books he'd used to crush Castor's infants? Cleaned, and inconspicuously out in the open. The mintbox which contained the ricin was in the trash. There was no evidence which could lead to Harry, no matter how _right_ Vernon was.

Belladonna smirked, petals fluttering, from where she sat under the trellis.

"One down, two to go. Excellent planning and execution-good clean up, too...the question is, how much has young Weed's mind skewed? Innocent no longer, and certainly not a child, the costs of his crime will certainly not be mild. Soon, very soon, the House of Borgias will rear their ugly head...and young Weed will learn how to properly create mayhem and dread."

"One down, two to go."

* * *

**_Sorry for taking so long to update; this chapter was a kinky one, as you can tell, and it took a lot of thought. My goal is to update every day and a half or so, but that schedule may not be implemented for a week; next week is exams, and I'm going to have to focus on those for most of my time. I'll try and crank out a chapter or two, though. _**

**_Reviews;_**

**_ultima-owner: Castor is...interesting, to say the least. _**

**_917brat: Thanks!_**

**_Man of Constant Sorrow: Thanks :D I haven't really thought about Snape yet, but you've given me plenty of ideas with just that one sentence. And, uh...well, if you've read this chapter you've probably noticed Harry isn't quite so 'just' in the head. He's decaying. Plain and simple; his mind is breaking down to that of a killer. Thanks for the idea about the troll fight, and indeed, a bezoar is Harry's worst enemy. _**

**_Anon007: Thanks :D_**

**_HellionWrath: Well, you've just seen one. I already have Petunia's death planned out, but it won't be happening for a while. No clue how Vernon's kicking it, not yet, anyways. _**

**_Thank you everyone for reading, and please let me know what you think! I_****do****_ actually get a few ideas from the things you suggest, so lay anything you want on the table and it might squeeze its way in!_**


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